Dazed and Confused, What To Do?
by LaaaLaaa
Summary: After the war, everyone is lost and confused. Has Draco really gotten over his old prejudices? Can Hermione forgive, and see the good in him? I have rated it M for swearing and possible future raunchiness.
1. Prologue

**Yo yo yo. I have not written fanfiction for like, six years. I was looking back at the two short ones I did, expecting them to be absolutely terrible as I was fifteen. They were cliched and kinda lame, but not as bad as I'd thought they would be ahhaha.  
So I have decided to attempt a longer one. I don't know how it will go, as I am a reader but not a huge writer. I will probably lose my mojo at some point and give up. I am at Teacher's College, so will be very busy. Let me know what you think so I can decide if it is worth continuing haha.  
For some reason, I like Dramione. I have no idea why.**

 **I don't want this to be all typical like "ooh Draco is suddenly all nice and sweet" like lots of the ones I read; he is still an asshole, but why? Can he change?**

 **This is set pretty much right after the end of the war. Wounds are still fresh. Everyone is lost and full of angst and anxiety. But I also want it to be kinda amusing, and btw I swear a lot.**

 **Here goes.**

The few weeks that had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts had been both the longest, and shortest weeks of Hermione Granger's life. So much had happened, and was still happening, for every single witch and wizard – healing injuries, rebuilding and repairing, saying goodbye to loved ones, picking up the remnants of the lives. Now, everything would be changed for the better. Life could now move forward, and wizards could let go of the old tensions and anxieties around blood "purity," and the Dark Lord, hopefully forever. Everybody would be "safe". And yet, the event would continue to cast shadows upon traumatised wizards for decades to come. The grief would always be with those who had lost someone – and basically everyone had. And there would always be fear of a repeat event lurking in the back of the minds of those who had witnessed the atrocities. "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." These words made Hermione feel physically ill. She had a responsibility to talk about her experiences to help the next generation to do better, but she wanted to erase it from her mind forever.

St Mungos was still overcrowded, and not only due to physical injuries; mental breakdowns, anxiety, depression, suicide attempts, and psychosis were running rampant in the frightened population, and Hermione suspected that it would take a long time for life to settle back into the mundane. The Wizarding World was crashing, as people were too afraid to leave their houses, or to go back home; people could not bring themselves to leave the remnants of their families behind to go to work; an entire generation of young witches and wizards had had their education interrupted, and many were too afraid to go back to the place where they had seen the worst. Many had lost everything. Refugee camps had been set up, but these were understaffed, overcrowded, miserable places. It was going to take a long time for their world to recover.

Hermione was lucky, in some ways. Her parents were living it up in the safety of the muggle world of sun, surf, and sand in Australia, oblivious to the fact that their only daughter had been scarred forever; oblivious to the fact that they had a daughter at all. Hermione was not only dealing with her own present needs and problems, but stress and worry over how her parents were getting on, and wrestling with the decision of whether or not to retrieve them. England may not be safe for a long time yet. Hermione could be seen as lucky, as her family still survived, but she was feeling very sorry for herself. This caused her pain, too; how could she be suffering so immensely over this, when many of her closest friends had lost so much more? And in a kind of sick way, the end of the war made her feel empty, like it was the end of an era. Her entire wizarding life had been spent worrying over Voldemort, finding ways to mess with Voldemort, trying to make the world a better place despite Voldemort. Now it was over, what would she do with her life? Her education had not even been completed, and she was in some kind of limbo, as though she had lost some part of who she was. This confusion also racked her with guilt. It was fantastic that Voldemort had been defeated, no shit. But now what was her purpose? She had had to go to a healer to be prescribed a potion to help her get a grip on herself. Would she ever be the same again?

 _"_ _You've changed, Hermione."_  
God, was she sick of hearing that. Yes, she had changed. Everyone had fucking changed. Of course they had. Why was Ron constantly picking on her?  
She supposed she kind of got it. She was acting weird, because she was feeling weird, and her partner was worried and just trying to help. But she needed time. Duh. You can't just go back to normal after something like that. He was really driving her nuts.

 _"_ _You should talk to someone."_  
Shouldn't everyone? Besides, Hermione did not feel like talking. Everyone knew what had happened. Everyone had been through the same thing. Everyone was suffering. Why should she be more special? She would rather be left alone, to try and process all that she had seen. She wanted peace, not more people bugging her about the things she would prefer to forget.

 _"I love you."_  
She couldn't even bring herself to say it back anymore.


	2. No Goodbyes

The Burrow was supposed to be home. Hermione no longer felt as though she had a home. Guilt ached in her belly every time Mrs Weasley gave her one of those warm smiles; how could she still smile, when she had lost so much?

Because Mrs Weasley still had purpose. Of course she felt her loss immensely, but she had so many other children, biological and otherwise, for whom she needed to keep going. Despite the hole in her heart, she was always there for everyone else, to talk to, to hug, and most importantly, she could throw her energy into keeping them fed.

Frankly, this made Hermione feel like shit.  
She wished she had the ability to work through the pain and the loss, but she had nothing to strive for anymore. Mrs Weasley refused all offers of help, because she like taking care of people. She told Hermione that she just needed to rest up.  
"I've been resting up for fucking weeks," she grumbled, as she headed up the stairs to Ron's room. Ginny walked past looking shocked.

* * *

No one understood, not even Harry.  
"You should be happy that Voldemort is no longer a threat to the wizarding world!" exclaimed Harry, looking at Hermione as though she was a traitor.  
She supposed she kind of was. Of course she did not grieve for Voldemort's presence, but what was she supposed to dedicate her life to now? She'd talked to Harry because she thought he would be the one person who would get it, but now she regretted her decision.  
So she continued to bottle up her thoughts and feelings.

* * *

"But it's been ages, baby."  
Since the war, Harry and Ginny had thrown all of their emotion into each other. Sex was such a comfort to them, and while Hermione was glad that they had some outlet for their feelings, it was not cool when everyone else had to listen to them.  
And it was not cool when Ron thought that it should be the same for them.  
No, Hermione was not a prude. Throughout the hunt for horcruxes, sneaking into the bushes surrounding the tent had been a great way for her and Ron to escape their reality. But now, it was just too much for her to handle.  
And so, just as she had every other night for the past few weeks, Hermione rolled over, and while she "slept," listened to Ron "comforting" himself.  
She knew she was hurting Ron's feelings. She knew she should feel terrible. But she just did not "feel it" anymore. She did not know whether the war had wrecked her, or if Ron's overprotectiveness had just become insufferable in the aftermath. All Hermione knew was that she could not stand his closeness anymore. It was at the point where everything he said or did was just irritating.  
But what could she do? There was nowhere for her to go. She could not bear the thought of disappointing Mr and Mrs Weasley, or of being judged by Ginny and Harry.

* * *

"You should do something for yourself" Ginny said to her one day, when she noticed how down Hermione was.  
And so, in the middle of the night, Hermione packed the meagre belongings she had left, and apparated into Diagon Alley to find somewhere to stay.  
Ron didn't wake up until the next morning, finding a note that brought tears to his eyes and ripped yet another hole in his heart.  
She had left. He had lost someone else. Everything had changed.


	3. A big fright

Hermione woke up to sunlight pouring into her room and a feeling in her stomach like she had swallowed rocks.  
"What have I done?"  
"What will I do?"

* * *

Despite feeling the least hungry she had ever felt in her life, she though that food would be a good idea, as she was weak and shaking. How long since she had last eaten?  
She felt a pang at the thought of the lovely breakfast Mrs Weasley would have cooked for her.  
She felt a pang at the thought of Mrs Weasley's disappointment once she realised Hermione, the ungrateful little witch, had left, taking her youngest son's heart with her.

* * *

Hermione gazed vaguely out of the dusty window as she picked at her pancakes. The alley was a shambles. Most shops were boarded up, or had smashed glass and nothing left inside. This dingy little restaurant was one of the few places open; the owner's eyes looked sad, even as he put on a cheerful façade, telling Hermione that "we just gotta get on with it." Business was not good, as most people were avoiding the outside world. How long until people became brave enough to continue their lives?

* * *

Hermione nearly vomited.  
"What the fuck?"  
For a blond head had just streaked past the window.

 _Malfoy.  
_ Hatred rose in her, as hot as sure as the sun that rose, every single day.  
Appetite very much gone, Hermione paid for her meal and walked out into the alley.  
Her legs were still shaking, her heart was racing, her mouth was dry. She sat on a wall that was still half there.  
"Come on, Granger. You've fought Voldemort. A nasty childhood bully should not affect you like this."  
But it wasn't the taunts of "mudblood" that affected her; it was the fact that he had been a slave to the Hitler of Wizards. She knew that the Malfoys had changed allegiance, but was this real? Or was it just to keep out of Azkaban? There was constant anxiety at the back of her mind; yes, Voldemort was gone, but how long before Death Eaters forced underground attempted to rise back up and terrorise the Wizarding World?  
It was inevitable. She thought of atrocities in the muggle world, in which she had spent most of her life. Hitler had been defeated decades ago, and yet, neo-Nazis still attempted to terrorise populations and get into governments.

* * *

Hermione sipped some of the anxiety potion she carried in her bag, and slowly made her way back to her hostel. She needed to figure out what she was going to do with her life from this point onward. She needed purpose. And she was determined to find it.


	4. A New Beginning

Hermione knew that she was a mess, and she did not give a shit. She trudged down to the gloomy bar at the bottom of the hostel in her scruffy jeans and t-shirt, bushy hair clouding around her head. As she sat down and ordered a butterbeer, a familiar voice pierced through the fog of her brain.

"Is that you Hermione?"

"Neville! What are you doing here?" She smiled for what felt like the first time in weeks. Neville was kind, and one could not help but smile and be friendly to him, no matter how terrible she was feeling about life.

"I have been working at one of those refugee camps down the road, but needed to escape to somewhere quiet," Neville told her, sighing with exhaustion. He looked tired, but not horribly down.

Hermione became interested. "Oh okay. What do you do there?"

"Well, they have all sorts of jobs. It's all volunteer work, but very rewarding. I live in a house full of displaced children, and help to tutor them, look after them, and distract them from these terrible times." Neville smiled. "It's incredibly tiring, but I want to help."

Hermione looked at him interestedly. "I could so with something that would give me some sense of purpose while I figure out what to do."

Neville nodded. "Oh, well they are in desperate need of volunteers. You would be perfect, Hermione. I can take you back there after lunch if you wish?"

Hermione smiled. Things were looking up. "That would be fantastic. Tell me about what the job involves."

"Well there is a village with temporary housing, and they are overcrowded with refugees – especially children." Neville looked sad. "Many of them will be reunited with their parents who are currently in hospital, but many more have no parents left. They need to be cared for while their extended family are tracked down, and futures sorted out. They have two volunteers in each house to make sure the children are cared for, tutored, supported, and loved. They like to have two adults to a house, but many only have one. There are families there too with adults, and they also help out with things like cleaning and maintenance."

Hermione looked into Neville's gentle blue eyes with a new appreciation for his kind soul. But, of course he would want to help orphans; he could empathise, having practically lost his parents to Voldemort too. She patted his hand and stood up. "I want to help too."

Neville grinned. "Do you want to maybe get cleaned up first?"  
Hermione looked down at her attire and laughed. "Yes, I should probably make myself look a tad more respectable. Come up to my room while I sort myself out.

* * *

Neville sat on Hermione's bed while she got changed in the ensuite. She opened the door so they could chat while she attempted to tame her hair. It was good to have contact with a soul such as Neville; he was kind, he was empathetic, he was not judgemental, and he did not expect anything from her. It was a breath of fresh air after having spent weeks in the stifling presence of Ron, who was always on her case and who wanted her to be sitting around and moving on like everyone else. Until, Neville started asking the obvious questions.

"What are Ron and Harry up to?"

Hermione grimaced in the mirror, but if Neville saw, he could just take that as exasperation with her hair, which she was trying to wrestle into a bun. She tried to be vague.

"Oh, you know, waiting to see what happens next."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "I thought you guys would stick together, like you always have."  
Hermione burst into tears. Neville rushed over and awkwardly patted her back.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I didn't mean to say something wrong. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's a perfectly good question Neville, I'm sorry," Hermione sniffled, wiping her face with a tissue handed to her by her friend. "I left. I have been feeling so confused and like I should have some purpose and now I feel guilty because the Weasleys were always so good to me but I just couldn't be around there anymore and for some reason I just couldn't find any romantic love for Ron anymore…" A new wave of tears started. "I feel so shit. Voldemort is gone and I am so happy and would not change it for the world, and yet, now I don't know what to do with myself. I have never thought much past defeating him and now I don't know what else I want from life."

Neville, bless him, seemed to get it, like no one else did. "I get it, Hermione. You are not a bad person. My Gran doesn't get why I'm volunteering at the camp – she thinks I should be at home with her so she doesn't have to worry about me. But I just feel like I should be doing something, you know?" He smiled at her and gave her a hug. "It will work out. You just need time to process everything. I have found this work to be very good for the soul. Come on, I'll show you." He swung Hermione's bag onto his back, took her hand, and led her out into this new beginning.

 **Neville and Hermione's friendship is strictly platonic hahah**


	5. The Refugee Camp

Neville was right. This work was tough and exhausting, but oh so rewarding. Hermione began to feel like herself again, as she had something to throw herself into. But at the back of her mind, she worried about what would happen once everyone in the camp found homes to go to. She couldn't just slink back to the Burrow and expect them to welcome her back. At least, she observed, she was having to swig her anxiety potion less and less. She had done something good for herself, and good for others.

She did get regular owls from Harry, Mrs Weasley, and Ginny, but letters from Ron were noticeably absent. She felt horribly guilty and sad for him, but knew that she no longer loved him romatically anymore; it would be good if he moved on. She hoped that they would be able to be good friends again someday. The others all seemed to be happy that she was doing something that she loved – helping people. She didn't tell them that the camp would like more volunteers: as horribly selfish as it was, she did not really want to deal with her friends at the moment. She would mend things with them later, and they were writing regularly, so she knew it would get better.

* * *

There were thousands of people in this particular camp, and she knew that there were many more dotted around England; no part of the Wizarding World had been untouched by the war, but she knew that England was where most of the destruction had taken place. She wondered how wizards in other places were getting on. She wondered if her parents were okay in Australia. She still cried herself to sleep many nights, but most of the time, she was so exhausted from running around after kids all day that she fell straight to sleep in seconds. She was running a six bedroom house with eight children ranging from the ages of three to ten years old, alone. In the morning, she had to get up, assist the youngest ones in getting dresses, bathed, and fed, whilst making sure that the older ones were doing what they were supposed to and not getting into fights (of which, there were many), whilst getting herself ready and making sure the house was not left in a mess. Then they would go out and walk to the massive tent that was being used as a school. There, she would help the five and six year olds learn to read, do basic mathematics and learn about the world around them (yes, even wizard kids had to learn maths before Hogwarts). At the end of the school day, she would round up "her kids," walk them to where supplies were handed out to pick up whatever they needed, and go back home to sort out dinner and entertain them until bedtime. They did a lot of storytelling, hide and seek, and she taught them how to play Wizard Chess, despite how totally barbaric she thought it was.

At least the younger kids were still being educated, though not in ideal conditions. For the Hogwarts kids, they would have to go back and repeat whatever year they had been in when the war messed it up. Hermione thought about how this was going to mess with the Wizarding economy; there would be no new graduates flowing into the workforce for another year, and so many had died that many new workers would be required.

Hermione also began thinking more and more about her own education. Would she be allowed to return to Hogwarts, and finish her education? The thought excited her – she loved learning, and it would give her something to pursue, and allow her more time to think about and become qualified for whatever she decided she really wanted to do. The thought also depressed her. I would not be the same without her two best friends, and all of the other people she had loved learning with. But in the meantime, she would continue to focus on her kids.

* * *

There were thousands of people staying in the refugee camp, but Hermione still saw many people that she knew. She saw Neville around a lot, and recognised many kids from below her at Hogwarts. It made her sad, but she knew that as the weeks passed, more and more people were able to return to their homes, and many kids were taken back to their parents or their extended family. She supposed life was slowly going back to normal. Still, the camp was overcrowded, and she wished that she was in one of the houses that had two adults to look after all of the kids.

She regretted that wish the day Draco Malfoy showed up.


	6. Malfoy in da house

"What the FUCK are you doing here?!"

Hermione paid no mind to the little ears listening in.

"Apparently I'm your new helper," Draco sneered. "I'm just as pissed about it as you are."

Hermione clapped her hands over the littlest resident's ears. "Don't swear in front of the children!"

"You did," Draco pointed out with a smirk.

Hermione ignored this truth, and asked him to prove it. He handed over his identity card and instructions to head to this very house.  
"Shit."

* * *

Hermione felt as though her stomach had dropped way too low in her body, and she felt nauseous as she single-handedly rearranged the rooms so that Malfoy would have his own room. The eldest kids were not too pleased about having to share, but hey, she pointed out, hopefully they would be rescued there very soon anyway. They closed their mouths and looked hopeful, which warmed Hermione's heart, but also made her sad; she would miss these kids once it was all over. The past couple of months had been heart breaking, but also amazing.

"Are you gonna help me out, you know, like you're supposed to?" Hermione called out to Draco, who was lounging on a couch reading a book.

"Nah, you seem to have it under control, Granger."

Hermione was seething. Who the fuck did he think he was? Why was he even here? She had seen his mansion, and she knew he hated work, so why would he be at a refugee camp?

Whatever, she had been doing it alone for months anyway. Still, he ought to be doing what he was here for. "Well could you at least light the fire or something?"

"Nah, I'm warm."

Hermione saw red. She stormed over to the punkass little blond slime and pointed in his face. "It's not about YOU," she jabbed him in the forehead. "It's about the kids. You know? The ones you were hired to look after?"

"I didn't ask to be here, Granger."

"Go back to your fucking mansion you purist piece of shit," Hermione hissed.

Draco stood up with a smirk on his face. "Can't. What's for dinner?"

Hermione used her wand to light the fire, and huffed off to the kitchen. She leaned over the bench and put her head on her arms, her bushy brown hair tickling them. Her life was going downhill again. Malfoy made her sick. Not only was he an absolute fuckwit, but he was dangerous. She didn't trust him, and was concerned for the kids. She felt a tug on her jeans.  
"'Mione, wha's for dinna?"

* * *

Hermione sank down in an armchair and closed her eyes. She had done the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, and read everyone to sleep. Another long, and exhausting (yet rewarding) day was over. Now she had to figure out what to do about Draco. She heard his footsteps coming into the room and flinched. She did not trust him. She sighed heavily.  
"Why are you here?"

She opened her eyes and saw him smirk, but it seemed off. He seemed… off somehow. He was still a complete asshole, but she thought there was pain(?) in his eyes. She knew that no one had escaped the war unscathed, and even Draco and been forever traumatised. "He deserves it," she thought viciously.

Draco chuckled and turned around. "Night, Mudblood."

Hermione went to bed, but slept fitfully. She did not want to risk falling into a deep sleep, and having the blond ferret doing something that could harm the kids.

* * *

Hermione smacked her fist on the desk of the man in charge of the camp.

"What do you MEAN you can't get Malfoy moved out of my house? I don't trust him. I am legitimately SCARED for our safety."

The boss sighed. "I am sorry, Miss Granger, but I don't think you have any reason to fear Mr Malfoy. He seems to have genuinely changed, and he has nowhere else to go. I will talk to him about his lack of help, though. You need to go back to your school duties now please."


	7. Malfoy's feelz

It had been a week since Malfoy had arrived on Hermione's turf. After the manager had his little chat with him, Draco had started to pull his weight more – minimally, but more than he had been. The two were civil with each other, and the kids seemed to like him (though Hermione secretly noted with pride that she was still their favourite). He even read some of them to sleep. It was weird to see Malfoy in a kind of paternal role. It almost warmed her heart. But nope. He was still a prick, and she didn't feel quite safe.  
The youngest child was claimed back by her parents. Hermione cried when she had left, while Draco smirked at her. It took all of her willpower not to punch him in the face, but she didn't want to upset the other children.

* * *

And then one night, an own arrived for Draco, and he went paler than he already was. Hermione was sitting on the couch with a couple of the children, and she watched him with interest as he abruptly stood up and strode off, shutting himself in his bedroom. She shrugged and continued helping the kids with their ABCs.

Draco pretty much holed himself up in his room for days, only coming out for the obvious necessities, red-eyed and growing thinner. As much as Hermione did not like him, she began to worry. The kids kept asking why he wasn't helping, and Hermione just had to tell them to leave them alone.

And finally, he came out and started being a part of the household again. Hermione looked at him questioningly, and he turned away, avoiding her gaze. She wasn't feeling sympathy for him, was she?

* * *

It took a couple of weeks for Malfoy to finally open up to Hermione. The remaining four kids were in bed, and she was reading on the couch. He sat down in the armchair across from her, and cleared his throat. Hermione looked at him.

"Mother has died. I thought you would be pleased to hear."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "Oh, no. Draco. I am so sorry."

"Look, you don't have to pretend to care. I just wanted to explain my behaviour weeks ago. She killed herself, because she was messed up over what she was involved with during the war."

"Oh my god. Draco, I truly AM sorry. No one deserves an end like this." She impulsively put her hand on his, which was resting on the table between them. Then she realised what she was doing, and pulled it away. He looked at her, shocked and kind of disgusted. But mostly, he looked sad.

"Granger, I am sorry for calling you a mudblood all of those times. I am sorry for my role on Voldemort's side. I regret it so much, but at the same time, it is hard to get over my old prejudices. But I don't mean any harm. I really have changed. The war frightened me into seeing rationality." Draco looked on the verge of tears. "I couldn't stay at home anymore. Things had gotten so bad. Father only switched sides to save his own ass, and he was angry. Really angry. It was scary, so I got out. Mother chose to stay, and now she's dead. I have nothing. I don't know what to do with myself now."

Hermione was startled. Was Malfoy really opening up to her? Was Malfoy really showing regret? No one deserved this. She looked into his grey eyes, usually so cold, but now full of tears.  
"Malfoy, are you okay? You're not thinking of… following your mother, are you?"

"No. I don't know. I don't know if I can ever be accepted back into society after what I did. And I was brought up with those values so deeply ingrained, that it is hard for me to try and change."

Hermione put her hand out. "Truce?"

He shook it, looking wary. "Okay."

"Look, it will take a lot to be forgiven. You need to really make an effort to change, and work hard to earn a decent place in society. Have you thought about going back to Hogwarts and finishing school?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"I think it would be a good idea. You could graduate and it would be a good start on a career path. I'm going to be enrolling too. I will help you."

Draco stood up, tears in his eyes, and hugged her briefly, whispering "thanks," before shuffling off to bed. Hermione went off to her bed, feeling thoroughly confused.

Had the world turned upside down?


	8. Oh baby

Things were going much more smoothly now, and Hermione and Draco were almost… friends? Hermione shuddered at the thought. This was totally weird. But he seemed to be trying really hard. He tried to cook one night to prove himself, and even though the lasagne was burnt to a crisp, Hermione appreciated the effort. The kids complained a bit, which had Malfoy storming out of the kitchen in a huff, but Hermione told them they could just have ice cream instead.

* * *

Malfoy hadn't really opened up to Hermione anymore after that night, and seemed to feel very awkward around her, but at least he wasn't being an outright asshole. They just worked around each other and kept things civil.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, the numbers dwindled faster than ever, until all of the kids in their house had gone back to their families. While Hermione was immensely happy for them, she felt like a mother whose children had all moved out, and she cried and cried. Malfoy smirked at her red, tear-streaked face, and went to shut himself in his room. Hermione was back to feeling useless, but at least now she had school to look forward too.

* * *

One night, a knock on the door startled Hermione, who had been dozing on the couch. Malfoy was, of course, sleeping soundly in his bedroom. Hermione approached the door with caution, not sure whether to trust it.

"Draco!" she called out, rushing to his bedroom door. She pounded on it. He opened the door blearily, rubbing his eyes, in nothing but boxers. She eyed his bulge nervously.

"Granger, what the fuck."

"There's someone at the door," she squeaked. Draco pushed past her and opened the front door, where the camp manager was standing, holding a tiny baby. Hermione rushed up behind Draco, and gasped.

"We need you to take on this baby. Most people have left, and you two are the only ones who can take her on. Her Father died in the war, and her mother is very sick in the hospital at the moment. Her name is Avery."

"What the hell?" exclaimed Draco, as Hermione stepped forward to take the baby, saying "of course."

The manager glared at Draco. "Mr Malfoy, we had this chat. It is your job. It won't be for long."

Draco sighed. "Okay. Hermione will do it."

Hermione shot him a filthy look, but did not really mind. She was happy to do it herself. She settled the baby into a crib, and saw the manager out, assuring him that Avery was in good hands, and they both went back to bed.

* * *

Hermione woke up to the sound of a screaming baby and spent a few moments confused. Then, realising what was going on, she pulled on a dressing gown and rushed into the baby's room. Avery was crying her little heart out.  
"Shit," thought Hermione. She had never even had a baby sibling, and didn't really know what it would need. Then the smell hit her. Right then, Draco walked into the room asking what the fuss was. Hermione's face lit up.

"Here Draco, Avery needs her nappy changed." She thrust the child into Malfoys arms and pushed past him, heading for the shower, smirking at his protests. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Just wing it."  
She could hear Malfoy muttering swear words under his breath, and chuckled to herself. Screw it, he could do something for once.

* * *

When Hermione came out of the shower, her wet hair looking sleeker than usual, she was disgusted to find Draco sitting on the couch with the cleanest, happiest baby she had ever seen. She had so thought she was setting him up for failure. Then she laughed, and said "how the hell does a Malfoy know what to do with a baby?"  
Draco smirked and handed the baby to Hermione. "Your turn. I'm going to shower." She stared after him with a new respect.


	9. Confusion

Avery brought much joy to their "household" over the next week (apart from when she had a poop explosion all over Hermione. Malfoy laughed and laughed). Hermione was disgusted at how well she and Malfoy were co-parenting. He could be so _normal._ "Malfoy could actually pull off the Dad thing," she thought, which was interesting, considering the father he had been brought up with. Hermione had never thought about kids, but now she thought that she might like to be a mother someday. "Not with Draco, though," she thought with a shudder.

But she had to admit, they were growing quite close. He could still be cold, and sulky, but he was making a genuine effort to get along and do his share of the work. She was constantly on edge, expecting him to snap and go back to the scary bully he had always been, but he continued to prove her wrong. Avery was able to go back to her mother, and Hermione shed more tears, of joy and of sadness, while Malfoy, as usual, sneered at her. They took to reading in the lounge in awkward but not unpleasant silence in the evenings.

* * *

The owls came with their Hogwarts enrolment forms, and they filled them out together with excitement and nervousness. Draco was especially nervous; he was not going to have his old crowd of friends anymore. The other Slytherins would see how different he was. The thought filled him with apprehension. Did he really want to do this? He couldn't be seen with the mudblood, though. That would soil his reputation even more.

* * *

And then the owl came, informing Hermione that she had been made Head Girl. She beamed with pride and was excited, and Draco laughed coldly at her, taunting her nerdiness. "You're just jealous," she joked."  
"Whatever, mudblood," he sneered.  
She was flooded with dread at this glimpse of the bully Draco had once been, and went to her room feeling dejected. She began to think about how none of her closest friends would be at Hogwarts with her this year. Her new role would keep her budy, but it would not be the same anymore.  
But at least it was just one more week until she would no longer be living in close proximity to Malfoy! As civil as they had become, it was still weird and scary, and he still showed flashes of the old Malfoy.

* * *

As Granger left the room, Draco felt a stab of regret. He sometimes forgot who he was now. Changing was hard. And he was in turmoil on the inside, over his parents. As horrible as he knew they were, he still felt like the little boy who wanted to do anything to please them. If he was honest, she kind of lit up and shit when she got excited over nerdy things. He shook his head to clear the thought. Ew.


End file.
